For a Mothers Day post, I had tried –and again today– to upload a nice photo that DH took of daughter and me in front of our combined bouquets, in which I had finally applied her wilder’n’crazier Spartan race sister’s selfie trick of oversmiling. That rendered it a likeness of me and not some poor sad sack dragged from a funeral for a photo shoot.

Well, tomorrow’s another day to let technology confound me because now, I’m busy with preparing for the onslaught of sudden summer. That’s how it happens here — a high of 52, of 57, and then 92! I’ve dug out the fans, after making spots to put them, and have gotten some hot-weather clothes ready for the kids and myself for school and work. That meant finding some.

I’ve also planned heartily to get to some store before I pick up both little kids and before work, to try the ants-don’t-like-peppermint-oil thing. The only thing more fun than watching people freak out over ants, is spitting one out with a mouthful of coffee (one survived the shorter-than-usual microwaving the other dark-kitchen evening and was as surprised as myself to find himself healthfully baleened).

With that done (well, not, but I’ll try peppermint tea bags first), it’s onward and onward to preparing for Spartanite daughter’s visit for the week, kicking off her arrival with a yearly canoe/kayak race in which this family has participated for years. This visit, she’s bringing her new dog, a 13-pound abandonee now named “Finn,” which is why I’m washing a dog bed and blanket and getting human bedding ready as well, though for the sofa. Our *guest* room is full.

I’d be surprised if I’m back here before Friday morn.  The hours in which one must accomplish much seem to shrink in proportion, don’t they?

Happy summer-spring!!


Lilacs to follow

Birds like squeaking doors
opening the April morning
from their maples and firs,
sweeping night off porches
with busy wings to and fro
‘midst pleased plans to dine
and maybe fall in love today.
Gray squirrels find all these
peepers, whistlers, clickers
tolerable enough neighbors,
but not so not that red one!
Our Yosemite Sam/antha is
rootin’ tootin’ determined
that we are all interlopers..
(‘though not even s/he can
chase off those pesky jets).
O, to own the waking world
— and to disown its gravity!


Life in the low tide lane



I cried (with joy) when we first arrived and heard the waves further up, and saw the … the everything! We rather blindly criss-crossed over rocks and hurriedly set our chairs down into what is often underwater — we just couldn’t get close enough, perhaps, ‘though we said, “To get out of the wind.” Too long, this winter. Much too long.

He said, “Two old people, carrying their chairs into the rocks.” I wanted to disagree as I usually do. “Old” is a 3-letter naughty word. It was pretty much accurate, though; it was too long a winter. Mostly, though, I hadn’t worn my rock-scramblers, but some Clark’s clogs. Just then, a young ‘gull took up residence, and I forgot about a lot of things, having remembered their (animal!) cookies and small pretzels in my bag.


A menagerie not glass

Tonight, I am missing

all half-grown kissing

–oh! I meant kittens

an orange one, Mittens,

and his brother, Snuff..

guess we weren’t enough–

he moved to a parked car;

wasn’t like he’d gone far,

but the ladies were there,

(thus, for home, little care)!

There was Blackie and Gary

and Ghostly (not scary),

Oblina and Tia,

(though not a Maria)

and Lucy, and Stash who

could leave such a gash,

and Jackson and Larry

(now, Jackson was scary).

Oh, no — I’m not done,

there were 20..21?

Buddy One (and Buddy Two

with one green eye, one blue),

Tigie and Digger

and Marble grew bigger,

and Stanley, my goof,

never learned “aloof.”

Min-min, her Bobby:

my childhood hobby,

and Statey and Dinah..

could you find cats finah?

I miss them staring out at snows,

and running nostrils up my nose;

us butting foreheads from 2 chairs,

then curling up as if no cares–

our purring, soft, on many beds, we

chased the world from both our heads.

I miss the ambush of mice-y toes,

or around each bend, 2 startled foes;

I miss the squint that signals “pleased,”

and the faking of suddenly finding fleas.

Half-hour baths, and a stuck-out tongue;

Christmas trees where nothing stayed hung.

I miss the hugs of little paws and

the little taps that were the cause

of giving up, and becoming a cat..

on winter nights, I miss all that.


Through the jasmine in my mind

The first thought that comes to mind for today’s prompt, “Cling” has everything to do with fuzzy fur babies and their mamas. I recently watched a video of a big patient cat who’s been adopted as mama-like by a spider monkey — the phrase “monkey on my back” made visual, sort of. It would drive me bonkers. (This touch-screen tablet’s keyboard is very touchy when I type quickly, selecting the wrong letters often and sometimes accurately enough, because “bonkers” first appeared as “ninkers.” Exactly — being literally clung to would drive me ninkers, which is even worse! A little kid who  finds it hilarious to stand directly behind me no matter which way I turn drives me bonkers; if she had a grip on my shirt, I would be one big moving mass of ninkers.)

The second thought to come to mind was somewhat different. We cling to things, people and ways that we know, even when we shouldn’t. It is simply within our comfort zone; it’s certainly not always beneficial. (Brought to you by No Kidding, Dick Tracy!)

No, I’m not going to give an example of the iffy cling lol. We know what we do; plus, it’s like FIFTY degrees out there, birds are singing, sun is blazing, Ms. Hilarity is at Puppa’s for the day, and I have things to bring indoors after this unexpected wondrous thaw/melt that should’ve been stored inside since Fall (like a garden friar out on JJ’s tombstone, who yesterday was holding a basket of snow while bunnies ring the stone pool of snow below him), errands to run, some cleaning.. and hair to childlessly dye at last, perhaps. (I cling to the notion that I can at least appear more life-like if not riveting, but that’s a good kind of clinging for one for who works in the public eye.)

So, you get out there and rescue your St. Francis, too — unless it’s summer where you are, in which case this post will leave you chuckling as you dig your toes deeper in the warm sand, which would drive me bonkers to know, if I didn’t wish summer breezes on all of us every day.

Catch you later!